


Next Time

by zebrahat



Series: Spit it Out [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/F, Harry and Draco are girls, Humiliation, M/M, Magical Sex Toys, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Teasing, clit spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebrahat/pseuds/zebrahat
Summary: Draco and Pansy play with Harry again, taking full advantage of everything the Room of Requirement has to offer.





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Harry and Draco are female-bodied, with masculine pronouns. It just sort of came out that way. Part II of the Spit it Out series.

“Hold him open, Pansy, I want to see.”

Cold fingers pry Harry’s labia apart, exposing his vulva to Malfoy’s scrutiny. Helpless to stop him, Harry watches, self-conscious, as Malfoy openly appraises his spread cunt. He doesn’t flinch, though it takes nearly all his self-control to hold Malfoy’s heated gaze as that fucking smirk slowly twists his upper lip. 

Pansy withdraws, but his cunt stays open, folds pinned back to reveal his clit, standing to attention. “Easy access,” she grins at Malfoy, who flashes her a look of approval. Malfoy looms between Harry’s legs, arms folded loosely across his chest. Pansy and Blaise station themselves either side. Slytherins in every sight line, closing in, eyeing him with gleaming anticipation. 

“So pink, Potter. Your pretty little clit is positively blushing.”

Harry’s thighs tense, he can’t help but try to shield from their roving eyes and sharp taunts. It’s all part of it though. Besides it’s futile, he’s strapped tight. Naked, of course. Legs wide, ankles secured high above his hips, arse canted up. Arms lashed over his head with whatever the Room of Requirement’s seen fit to provide. He can’t work out how they’ve suspended him; beyond the slight chafe at his wrists and ankles, there’s no surface beneath him. A minor vertigo grips his stomach at the realisation he’s strung up mid-air. Drawing a dizzying breath, he tries to settle into the bonds. 

“Thought he’d be leaking already though,” Malfoy muses, pushing a finger roughly between Harry’s legs for emphasis, entertained by his useless attempts at modesty. 

“Let’s remedy that, shall we, Pans?” 

A long, smooth object nudges at his arsehole, pushes insistently. They slide it in and watch his cunt fill up with slick, blush spreading from the neck up. “He’s getting wet already,” Pansy says, delighted, “look, one poke up the bum really is all it takes!”

“Honestly, Pans, we discovered that much last time around,” says Blaise, “it’s hardly news that our Saviour here gets off on a good arse fucking – is it Potter?”

Here it is, Harry thinks. They want him to participate in his humiliation. He hates this part. But his throbbing cunt gives the game away; his body loves it, and that much is all too evident to his tormentors. 

“Well, Potter?” asks Malfoy, because, of course he does. “Would you say that’s anything new?”

Harry blinks his eyes closed, he knows better than to ignore Malfoy’s question altogether but a soft “N-no,” is all he can manage. This time Harry’d thought he was ready for it, that he could handle whatever they threw at him, but right now, here, in the quick of it, he’s not so sure. 

They don’t go right at him, not like before. After all, they’ve had him once, they can afford to take the time. A slight flick of Malfoy’s wand, and the thin plastic shudders to life inside him, twisting slowly in and out. Harry breathes into the stretch and burn of it, determined not to let slip the moan of pleasure caught in his throat. 

“And don’t worry, Potter, we know your poor cunt must’ve felt so neglected,” Malfoy continues, “we simply had to make it up to you.” 

Alarmingly, Malfoy sounds almost sincere. Harry bristles at the truth of it, anticipation stirring between his thighs. He’s been gagging for it, if he’s honest. Harry can’t explain the slick that soaks his underwear when Malfoy smirks knowingly at him across the Great Hall, or brushes past him in the stairwell. He’s never been so turned on, never felt so hot and alive with shame. He’s never wanted it so much. 

Harry can’t hold back a pained grunt as Malfoy replaces the slim plastic with a thick plug, gradually working it into him. The push is slow and steady, he can feel his arsehole resisting, contracting, trying to expel the intrusion. It’s too much, he thinks wildly, it’s stretching him so much, it’s so fucking big. Harry squirms within his restraints, a whimper escaping his throat. Heat crashes through his body, pricks at his lungs, sours his belly. 

“Please,” he gasps, “I can’t – it’s too much – ” But Malfoy keeps pushing, relentless. 

“You can take it, Potter, and you will.” He smiles widely and raps at the base of the plug, hammering it deep inside Harry’s aching hole. Tears fill the corners of his eyes as the pressure builds, he feels horribly exposed, cunt spread open, empty, arse stretched wide, obscenely full of cold, hard plastic. 

“There we are,” Malfoy says, satisfied, “told you so, didn’t I?” 

Harry’s still trying to adjust to the length inside of him, to level out his panicked breathing, but fuck, all he can do is stare desperately at Malfoy, the jut of his hips, luminous blonde hair tied back, with a few artful strands accentuating the curve of his jaw. Harry’s consumed, Malfoy’s all sharp lines and cruelly good looks. 

The first sharp tap directly on his exposed clit makes him howl. Malfoy lazily smacks the narrow tip of a thin, springy riding crop across Harry’s soaked labia, his trembling thighs and shuddering hips. 

He drags the crop between Harry’s legs, gathering slick and sending sparks through his cunt. He teases and nudges and slaps until Harry’s panting with need, barely conscious of the soft, pained little “ah” he’s letting out on every exhale. Harry’s wrecked by the next time Malfoy spanks his bare clit, hard, a sticky wet crack reverberating throughout the room. His chest heaves, he cries out, clenching violently around the plug, barely conscious of his body jerking up to meet Malfoy’s crop as it snaps against the tender bundle of nerves, over and over. 

“Sure you don’t want a go, Blaise?” he calls out, “his clit’s getting all big and sore and swollen, look.”

Harry’d forgotten Blaise was even there. He wasn’t sure, exactly, what Blaise got out of all this; he didn’t join in that much, though Harry’s humiliation seemed to amuse him. 

Grinning at Blaise, Malfoy feigns a swipe at Harry with the crop; they laugh as he recoils, and repeat the motion, watching his inflamed clit quiver and dance. Harry’s fizzing with need, his arousal agonising by the time they get bored of making him flinch and yelp. 

Harry’s breath stutters as Malfoy finally dips a fingertip into Harry’s wetness, circling his needy cunthole, teasing and thrusting lightly but never giving Harry the fucking he craves. Instead, he slides his fingers through Harry’s soaked slit, pushing shallowly back and forth, producing a lewd, wet sucking sound. For a while it’s the only sound in the room, the mortifyingly slick slide of Harry’s wetness; all anyone can hear is exactly how much he wants this. The thought only makes him wetter, a fresh flood trickles from his opening. 

“Want to come, Potter?” Malfoy asks in a low voice. Harry knows it’s a trick, of course he knows. But he answers, because of course he does. 

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he pants. 

With an expression akin to affection, Malfoy gently parts Harry’s folds, holding him open once more. He circles finger and thumb lightly around Harry’s clit hood, brushes once, twice, again, over Harry’s swollen, aching clit. Harry’s eyes swoon shut, he hates himself a little but rubs against Malfoy’s hand, as much as the restraints allow. 

Pansy swoops in, grazes the pink tips of his nipples, taking pleasure in Harry’s bitten back yelp. Her delicate strokes are almost too soft to tolerate. She tickles his tits, ever so gently, holding a steady but leisurely pace, until Harry’s gasping silently, thrusting his chest toward Pansy’s teasing touch and bucking shamelessly up into Malfoy’s hand. Malfoy strokes faster, increasing the pressure, Harry’s clit hot and hard beneath his fingers. 

“Oh god, oh fuck -” Harry chokes on his sigh as Malfoy pinches and twists his fingers, just so.

“What the hell – Malfoy?!”

Harry’s outrage is subsumed by the white-hot blister of denied pleasure pulsing between his legs. He’s feverish, set ablaze, all of him centred in that one searing point of focus. Sticky and sore, and he’d been so so close to orgasm he thinks he might black out if he doesn’t get to come. 

Malfoy looks far too pleased with himself. “It’s a spell,” he says proudly, giving Harry’s clit a little pat, ignoring his drawn out cry. “It’s like a cock ring, but for his cunt, right?” 

“So, what, he can’t come at all?” Pansy sounds dubious. 

“Not unless I perform the counterspell,” he says, smugly. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, Draco,” Blaise nudges his shoulder against Draco’s playfully, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Pink spots of gratification bloom on Malfoy’s cheeks, eyes alight with pleasure at having piqued Blaise’s interest. 

Blaise strokes his long fingers blithely across Harry’s aching clit, making him hiss with uncomfortable arousal. 

“So, if I give him a bit of a squeeze…” 

Harry makes a desperate keening sound, back arching involuntarily, his clit’s so hard and swollen, he’s never needed to come so badly. Blaise and Malfoy exchange dirty grins at the sight of Potter’s desperation, enjoying his helpless moans and flushed skin breaking out in sweat. 

“My, you are shameless, aren’t you? Never seen anyone quite so eager to rub one out,” Blaise wipes the slick off on Harry’s thigh in mock distaste. He quirks an eyebrow at Draco.

“So, what now?”

In response, Malfoy begins to tug the base of the plug gently back and forth, startling a weak groan out of Harry, who clenches around it instinctively. The burn of it’s intense, overwhelming. Sweat beads on Harry’s forehead as Malfoy pulls it, slowly, all the way out of his body, inch by devastating inch. Finally Malfoy leaves him panting, shaking and dizzy; he slopes off to whisper in Pansy’s ear. 

They return, identical sneers splitting their lips apart. 

“Here,” Malfoy murmurs, “hold onto this, will you?” He slips a slick, slim dildo in, and Harry’s barely had a moment to process this before Malfoy resumes spanking Harry’s clit raw, stoking the fever burning him up from inside. 

Pansy pinches a nipple with one hand, tugging his breast taut and smacking the strained flesh. Humming, she gets into a relentless rhythm of harsh stinging blows that make Harry’s eyes water. He turns away from Pansy’s penetrating gaze, he can’t bear to witness her tongue poking out in concentration, her satisfaction with each shudder and groan she drags out of him. 

To his horror, he can feel the dildo starting to shift, threatening to drop at any moment. It takes all of his effort to hold it inside him, but it’s no good, not with Pansy brutally twisting and plucking at his tits, with Malfoy’s teasing strokes over his sore clit. Every clench of his buttocks, every twitch of his hips, pushes it out a little further – “it’s, ah – it’s going to – ” Harry moans, stricken, as it falls. 

While they play with him, the dildo slides out, again and again. It doesn’t matter whether he clamps down, hard, or manages to relax his muscles around the intrusion - out it comes, regardless. Sometimes a quiet thud onto the plush carpet, though more often than not it lurches out with a squelch that makes Harry’s chest seize with the indignity of it. 

They stick it back in, again and again. Freshly greased every time. Sometimes a long, slow press so deep inside Harry can’t breathe and he thinks it might finally stay put. Other times a rough tap, or a few pumps all the way in and back out – that’s Pansy’s favourite, she relishes the wet pop of the plastic head on his rim. 

They snigger at the exertion in his face, his quick cut-off groans, low sighs and soft shudders of embarrassment. Malfoy jabs the smooth plastic into him; delighted this time when it slops straight back out. “What’s the matter, Potter? Don’t you want it?” Malfoy teases. He rams it in a few more times to make sure, doesn’t bother to slick it up again and there’s no resistance at all now, Harry’s thoroughly loosened hole expels the dildo every time. The shame of it lights his insides ablaze. 

“Looks like we’ll have to find another use for that messy hole of yours,” Malfoy says, slyly. 

With a measured flick of his wand, Malfoy unravels the ropes around Harry’s ankles, his body surges backward with the momentum, feet skimming the carpet, arms straining above his head. Harry feels oddly more exposed like this, eyes shifting madly around the room, he doesn’t know where to look. Thankfully although he can just about hear Pansy and Blaise’s low murmurs, they’re somewhere beyond his line of sight. Malfoy, however, stands before him, a little too close, his proximity unsettling, though Harry notes with satisfaction that Malfoy’s shirt’s crumpled and untucked, the hemline of his skirt upturned on one side. Hardly dishevelled by most people’s standards, but quite apart from Malfoy’s usually-pristine exterior. 

Rumpled, Harry thinks, faintly, before Malfoy interrupts their mutual appraisal, unhooking Harry’s wrists and leading him over to a low leather spanking bench in the corner of the Room. He presses up flush behind Harry, steering him into position with his body, breath hot and dirty in Harry’s ear as he tells Harry to bend himself over the bench, reach around and pull his cheeks apart. Harry blushes deeply at the instructions, hesitates, but gingerly drapes his torso over the cool leather, reaches his arms around and shakily obeys. 

“Split ‘em apart, that’s it. Wider. Yes. Oh Blaise, you must see this, I know how much you enjoy a sloppy arsehole…”

Harry’s just grateful for an opportunity to hide his face, cringing as he reluctantly displays himself, legs as far apart as they’ll go. 

“We’ll say twenty, just to get started, shall we?” Harry’s heart sinks, he’d been anticipating another round of the crop, or perhaps a more traditional spanking, but doesn’t think he can withstand twenty of those stinging blows against his tender hole. Fighting the urge to clamp his buttocks together, Harry braces for impact. Malfoy’s aim is impeccable, he delivers three vicious strikes in quick succession, making Harry yell out, pitching against the leather bench, unthinkingly reaching out to steady himself. Malfoy tuts disapprovingly. 

“Oh dear, Potter, you’ll have to do better than that. Let’s start again, shall we?” 

Teeth gritted, nails digging painfully into his buttocks, Harry wrenches them apart, straining to hold his position. They’ve pumped his arse full of lube by this point, and he can barely find purchase, fingers slipping over greased-up cheeks. He makes it to eleven this time. He’s bracing for another vicious spank, so when Malfoy pops the thin dildo roughly back in, Harry splutters, arse instinctively contracting.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, as it thuds onto the carpet once more. 

“Oh you want more, do you?” Malfoy gives a low laugh and obliges, alternating between cruelly spanking Harry’s twitching arsehole and plunging the slick plastic deep inside, relishing each time it lurches back out of him. 

Harry clings to the obscene rhythm of it, the momentum sends him reeling against the bench, delicious pressure building between his legs. He abandons all restraint, grinding against the leather, sobbing in relief as Malfoy finally calls out, “twenty!” 

Pansy and Blaise give a little whoop from the sidelines, cheering Malfoy on. At Malfoy’s behest, they amble over, haul Harry up by his shoulders and dump him on the bed. 

“Knees up, Potty,” says Pansy, “yeah, that’s it, hold your legs open. Wider.”

He waits for another strike to fall, a quick pinch of his aching tits, the next humiliation in store for him. But nothing comes. They fade away from his vision, he can just about make out their blurred forms across the room. They’ve not planned it like this, not really, they were only going to watch him sweat and moan for a minute or so, but time lapses as they giggle and gossip, watching Harry work himself up. 

“Oh my god, he’s actually still waiting…” Blaise says, his derision emerging loud and clear from across the room. 

“And look at this, there’s a fucking wet spot!” Malfoy crows in delight. 

“Such a shame to leave now,” says Pansy, with what sounds like genuine regret. “Look at him, all worked up – fuck, your clitty’s huge, Potter, it’s so big I can see it sticking out of your cunt lips, just begging for a slap.”

She ignores Harry’s thighs jerking together protectively, poking at his opening instead. “Bet he’s dying to come by now.”

“And he’s not the only one,” says Blaise, tartly. Pansy giggles, “all right, all right, we’re off then,” she slips her hand into Blaise’s. 

“Off for a quick fuck in the old Charms room, no doubt,” Draco rolls his eyes, “enjoy.”

Flipping him off in unison, Blaise and Pansy tumble out of the Room, laughing and jostling. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Potter,” drawls Malfoy, once Pansy and Blaise have left. With a kind of predatory grace, he carefully spreads Harry’s thighs, kneeling between them before lowering himself, bracing his palms above Harry’s shoulders. He sounds almost bored, and they’re barely even touching, but the intensity of his gaze, hot and fierce, belies him. 

“You really are desperate for it, Potter,” Malfoy murmurs in his ear, slowly snaking his arm down, “your poor clit’s all hard and swollen and red, you’re leaking out onto the sheets and I bet your cunthole’s needy for a good, hard fucking.” 

He pushes a finger in shallowly, teasing Harry’s hole. Harry moans in frustration as Malfoy stills, hand poised above Harry’s clit. Harry wants so badly to not rub himself up against Malfoy, to hang on perhaps, to one shred of dignity, but he barely even has the thought before he realises he’s already pushing urgently upward; the angle’s not quite right but Harry’s so far gone, it doesn’t matter. It’s perfect, it’s everything he needs, slanting his cunt up, hips working erratically. Malfoy’s hand is hot and hard and unmoving.

He lets Harry work himself up into a frenzy, moaning and rubbing deliriously, clutching frantically at sweat-soaked sheets. Harry’s sobbing quietly by the time Malfoy whispers something unintelligible, something that makes Harry’s eyes fly open comically, makes his body spasm in blissful anguish. Malfoy doesn’t help Harry get off at all, but then he doesn’t need to, because Harry’s coming, he’s surging and grinding, clawing at Malfoy’s shoulders and letting waves of pleasure sink him deep. 

The harsh intensity of release leaves him boneless and gasping, collapsing into the sheets. Malfoy reaches between their bodies, his hand sticky with Harry’s come, shoves his skirt aside, takes his plastic cock in hand and drives deep into Harry’s cunt in one smooth thrust. He fucks into Harry steadily, murmuring low in his ear, “can’t keep a cock in that sloppy wet arsehole, eh, Potter,” and, “about time your precious pink hole got a good work out don’t you think?” 

The aftermath of orgasm always leaves him aching inside, makes him feel needy and empty, desperate to be filled. This time is no different, but Malfoy’s filthy words prick at him, burning his chest, and each wet, messy thrust roughs up against Harry’s bruised clit, his stinging arsehole clenching as he arches up to meet Malfoy’s hips with his own.  
Malfoy convulses, fucking Harry in a short, sharp, staccato rhythm, head hanging forward as he comes with a low exhale. The slap of their bodies grinds to a standstill. Malfoy pulls out. Neither of them speaks. 

“Look, Malfoy,” Harry starts, awkwardly. 

Malfoy ignores him.

“Bet you could come again though, hmm?” he says, pushing into Harry, rubbing a thumb over Harry’s clit. Harry lets out a hiss of discomfort, but Malfoy keeps going, dragging his thumb leisurely back and forth, firing him back up again. 

“You want to, don’t you?” Malfoy asks, sharply.

Harry does, of course he does. 

“I mean, okay, but – fuck – no – ” His strangled cry breaks off into a wrenching sob, as he realises that Malfoy’s done it again, he’s stoked his arousal and seized it tight, denying him release once more. 

Harry gapes in disbelief, but Malfoy just laughs, and tweaks Potter’s nipples roughly, enjoys making him arch and whimper. 

Leering at Harry, Malfoy gives his cunt a friendly little slap, trailing a finger along his wet slit. He steps gracefully out of the harness, and holds his skirt up. Harry moans at the sight of Malfoy’s dark blonde curls and pushes the heel of his hand against his aching clit, looking on in a fevered haze as Malfoy rubs himself off again - and puts on a show of it too - sighing a little, fingers working quickly, hips stuttering, head thrown back, moaning exaggeratedly as he comes. 

“M-Malfoy, t-take it off,” Harry gasps. 

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry,” he says, carelessly, dropping his skirt and smoothing the pleats down. He flashes Harry a wicked grin.

“Tomorrow. Same time.”


End file.
